Over
by nerre
Summary: To say that Arthur was a complete wreck would be putting it lightly. Arthur and Matthew after the Revolution. implied UKxUS, can be read as CanxUK. Drabble. Plenty of angst!


Matthew sighed, squeezing his eyes shut and pinching the bridge of his nose for a few seconds to try to dissipate the oncoming headache. When this proved to do nothing, he took one deep, calming breath before running the same hand down his face only to have it land on the counter below, next to an ornate tea set sitting on a considerably less-fancy serving tray.

It had only been a matter of days since it happened, and to say that Arthur was a complete wreck would be putting it lightly.

Matthew had not been with him in the last battle; he didn't want to have to fight his own brother, even if he didn't agree with what he was doing. He had been farther north, closer to the border between the two territories with a small group of British soldiers when Arthur found him. His once pristine white and royal red uniform was now ripped, bloodied and mud-stained and his tricorn hat hung low over his face as he rode his horse straight over to Matthew. Once he'd gotten to him, Arthur slumped forward over the horse's neck before slipping to the ground, only to be caught quickly by Matthew and set on the ground gently, still clinging to his colony.

Arthur turned his head to look him in the eye and and Matthew took in his broken expression and knew immediately that something had happened, something _big_. He had _never_ seen Arthur like this. Matthew could see tears forming in his (already red) eyes and one escaped and rolled down his flushed face as he raised a hand to his colony's cheek and whispered so quietly Matthew could barely hear it,

"It's over."

He immediately knew what Arthur meant in those two words. His eyes widened and he could feel his jaw go slack. He had no idea what to do, so he did the one thing he could coherently think to: cling to Arthur and let him cry on his shoulder until one of them got their wits about them.

It was what felt like a very long time after that when Matthew let go of Arthur (who had, in his obvious exhaustion, fallen asleep at some point) and let him rest on the ground while he got to his feet, rubbing his face and looking around. The other British soldiers were nearby and looked as if they were preparing to leave. Matthew guessed they had heard the news.

They later returned north to his own territory with the group of soldiers, Matthew keeping a close eye on Arthur the whole way back. A little while after they reached the border, the two split off from the group in direction of Matthew's home, arriving there a while later.

And that's where Matthew found himself only a few days later, standing in front of the kitchen counter, staring at the kettle of now-cooling tea, and mentally preparing himself for the same thing he'd been going through each day since.

So he picked up the tray and walked briskly out of the kitchen and up the stairs, stopping in front of the second door on the right, the room Arthur always stayed in if he decided to visit.

He didn't bother knocking, knowing he'd get no response if he did and that there was no need for it anyway, the only times Arthur had moved in the past few days was when Matthew forced him to. Otherwise, he would always find him in one of three main places: sitting up in bed with a blank expression on his face, slumped over his desk (sometimes actually writing something, though to whom or about what Matthew still couldn't figure out), and finally, and perhaps most often, sitting in front of one of the room's two windows, always the same one, the one that Matthew knew faced southeast, and probably the reason Arthur had ever picked this room in the first place. Alfred always _had_ been the favorite, even now.

Matthew could handle the depression, he'd been expecting it. What he had a hard time with was the drunkenness. Evidently, Arthur had at one point remembered his stash of alcohol (which Matthew suspects he hides in all of the houses he pays regular visits to, just in case) and proceeded to make good use of it.

The worst part of it was that Matthew, not knowing _where_ the stash was, exactly, would wrench a bottle out of his hands only to come back later to find him clinging to yet another one.

So he never knew what to expect, walking into that room, but this time, just like every other time, he put on a brave face and pushed the door open.

"Arthur? I brought you some tea. Earl Grey, your favorite."

He was laying in bed this time, on his side with the covers pulled up to his face. Matthew walked over and put the tray down on the bedside table, grabbing the desk chair and pulling it over to the side of the bed. He sat down and began pouring tea into the two cups, one for Arthur and one for himself and he could feel Arthur's eyes on his hands as he did.

"I thought you didn't like my tea..."

Matthew froze. _Oh, not this again..._ But, well, maybe he was mistaken! Maybe Arthur really did think that Matthew didn't like tea...

"Uh, yes, Arthur, I've always liked it. Haven't I ever told you?"

"No." Arthur, with much effort, sat up. Matthew could smell the alcohol on his breath and looked away, back towards the tea, biting his lip, but he knew Arthur was still staring straight at him with that drunken gleam in his eye. "...Alfred."

And suddenly there were arms around Matthew's neck, pulling him in towards Arthur, and before he could think of what to do,there was a pair of lips crushing his own. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had registered the sound of one of the expensive tea cups being knocked over and broken on the hardwood floor, but he couldn't worry about that at the moment, as he now had to think of an escape plan to the situation he had gotten himself into.

But that was easier said than done what with someone's lips smashed against your own.

He breathed an internal sigh of relief as Arthur moved to pepper his face with light kisses, whispering _'Alfred'_ between each one. He figured the best plan of action at this point was to wait it out, so he sat there patiently as Arthur eventually wore himself out, pulling Matthew against his chest (and onto the bed with him in the process), still whispering his brother's name into his hair. It was only when he began to hear Arthur quietly snoring that he allowed himself to relax completely and finally let out his own sadness, crying softly to himself until he, too, fell asleep.

_Author's notes:_

_aluihr;iawgui;gs. Bad ending. Ugh. I'm sorry D:_

_I started off on a roll and I was just like "Oh yeah, this is good, wooo" and then at a certain point I just stopped and couldn't think of how to end it so you get a very very crappy ending, courtesy of my stupid brain. Buh._

_So, this is a drabble, I _highly_ doubt I'll continue this, as I wouldn't know what to write for any other chapter. It was just an idea that popped into my head that I liked enough to write down. So yeah I probably won't continue with it._

_And yes, I am still working on Spirit Song, I'm just stuck on the current chapter and needed to think of something else so I wrote this to (hopefully) get those creative juices flowing!_

_Also, I could not think of a title for this to save my life.  
_

_Bye~_


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